


I'll Wait For You

by wincechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e05 Fan Fiction, M/M, Post-Episode: s10e05 Fan Fiction, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Try as he might, Dean can’t stop thinking about how close the play-Cas stood to the play-Dean, the way that Cas had looked at that Dean and the way that Dean had looked right back, the things that Cas did for that Dean. And suddenly he's looking back at all the interactions between himself and a certain actual angel, how close Cas stands when he forgets he's not supposed to, the way he looks up at Dean without blinking with that sincere, sure expression on his face. How he himself looks right back at Cas, how his eyes always take inventory of the pout of Cas' soft lips, the breadth of his shoulders, his fingers under the hem of his coat sleeve.<br/>---<br/>A 10x05 Coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Wait For You

**Author's Note:**

> The latest coda to ever coda. Do I get a medal?
> 
> Thanks as always to [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com) for beta and to [Sandra](http://huggystiel.tumblr.com) for inspiring this and for encouraging me and helping me figure out what the F*** I was trying to say. <3

The smile Dean takes with him when they leave St. Alphonso’s Academy persists all the way through Michigan, and he knows without having to look that Sam wears an answering one in the passenger seat next to him. He doesn’t even notice that the radio is conspicuously and uncharacteristically silent until they’re a hundred miles away, and he realizes he’s been running the songs from that damn musical through his head for the last two hours. He’s gotta hand it to Marie; the tunes she wrote were friggin’ catchy.

He’s sleepy and content by the time he puts his baby in park outside a broken-down motel somewhere in Indiana, though his stomach snarls hungrily as he slips into the room. He manages to convince Sam to grab them some dinner while he takes the first shower, and he finds himself humming “The Road So Far” as he soaps up and gets clean, relishing the warm rush of the water over tired muscles. He hates to admit it but he’s getting a little old to be getting thrown around by scarecrows and driving three hundred miles immediately afterwards.

He shuts off the water reluctantly and towels off, pulling on clean boxers and a worn, black t-shirt, slumping out of the bathroom to collapse on top of the bed closest to the door. He fumbles blindly for the remote and flicks on the TV, flipping through the channels, but he’s not really seeing what’s on, scrolling past late-night crime dramas and movies-on-demand alike with his mind on the musical he’d just witnessed. He thinks of the girl dressed up as Cas, standing under a shoddily-constructed prop streetlamp singing about waiting for the Dean in the play, fluffy white wings strapped to her back, and he feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

Shuffling to the edge of the bed, he rummages around in the pockets of his discarded jeans and pulls out his cell phone, thumbing through his contacts until he finds the one he needs, hitting send before he has a chance to second guess why he’s doing it.

It takes a few rings before Cas answers, the gravelly, whiskey-rough voice filtering through the earpiece. “Hello?” he says, his voice accompanied by the hum of the Continental and the rumble of the road beneath its tires.

“Heya Cas,” he replies, and his lips curl into a grin without his say-so. “You on the road?”

Cas hums in the affirmative. “Hannah and I are headed to meet up with another friend. Another angel.” Muffled, Dean hears Hannah’s voice asking him who he’s talking to, and then Cas replies “Dean,” and for some reason, that warms Dean from the inside out.

“Where are you?” Cas asks.

Dean shuffles on the bed, tucking a second pillow under his neck and combing a hand through his wet hair. “Indiana,” he says. “Stopped to catch some Z’s at a motel. Tomorrow we’ll look for another case.” He chuckles, remembering. “Man, you would not believe the shit we just dealt with.” He tells Cas about the production of _Supernatural_ , sparing no details. He tells him about the girls and their passion for the Winchesters’ goddamn life stories, he tells him about the disturbingly catchy songs and the wigs and the fake beards and the cardboard Impala. And as an afterthought, he tells Cas about Calliope and how Sam’d finally ganked her after Marie took out the scarecrow.

“It sounds like you enjoyed yourself,” Cas says, his voice strangely fond, and Dean shrugs even though Cas can’t see him.

“Yeah it was all right,” he says. “But you shoulda seen the girls playin’ you and me, Cas. They were _together._ Like _together_ , together. The holding hands, kissing, adorable as fuck, kind of together. Not gonna lie, it was pretty cute. The way the girl dressed as you looked at the girl dressed up as me.”

There’s a long silence, the sound of the car and the quiet music from the car’s radio the only sound. Finally, “That sounds nice,” Cas says, his voice carefully neutral and Dean nods.

“It was. But man, it was weird seeing someone dressed up as me snugglin’ up with someone dressed as you.” He chuckles to himself. “But I guess ‘ _Destiel’_ is a thing, like ‘Dean’ and ‘Castiel’ smushed together into one word, that’s what they call our—thing. I mean—like, the thing they think we are. Could be. Whatever.”

“It’s called a portmanteau, Dean,” Cas replies after a short pause. “It’s a combination of two words that—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay Mister Know-it-all. Point is, we have our own port-thingy. Isn’t that weird?” He wrinkles his nose at the ceiling, his lips curled in an amused grin. “Like you and me together. Weird.”

Castiel is silent on the other end of the line, and _oh shit_ , he’s gone and freaked out the angel with the Destiel bullshit. Dean scrambles for another topic and comes up empty so he just kind of laughs and blusters on. “So yeah it was kinda cute though, the whole thing. I thought reading about our lives was weird but watching people sing about them? Really fuckin’ weird man.”

Cas chuckles and Dean lets out a relieved breath at the sound. “It sounds wonderful, Dean. Your story has obviously touched the lives of these girls in a profound way.”

Dean snorts. “C’mon. It’s not like it’s freakin’ _To Kill a Mockingbird,_ Cas. This is our _lives_. I still don’t get why people would want to read about us. Who gives a flying crap?”

Cas sucks in a breath, clearly about to launch into some kind of tirade, but he’s interrupted by Hannah’s voice on the other end of the line, saying something about their turn coming up soon. “I have to go, Dean,” he says and Dean’s sure he imagines the regret in his voice. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Me too,” Dean says, laughing. He imagines Cas watching the play, the sincerity he would have in his voice as he tells the actresses what a great job they're all doing, reaching out to straighten Kristen’s fluffy white wings. “You would’ve loved it.” It comes out a little more sincere than he wanted and he scrambles for some way to make light of it, but then he hears footsteps on the sidewalk outside the door, and the scrape of a key being inserted into the lock. “Sam’s back, too. Catch ya later, Cas,” he says.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas replies, voice low and soft and then he’s gone, the line going dead just as Sam swings open the motel room door bearing a grease-soaked paper bag in one hand and a tray of two soft drinks in the other.

Dean eats stretched out on his bed, his brother sprawled out across the other, the two of them watching TV as they eat. It’s a nice relaxing evening, just what he needs after their weird-ass hunt, and when he finally tucks himself into bed, Dean still sees a trenchcoated figure leaning in to kiss a leather-jacket wearing one behind his eyelids, and he tries not to think about how the idea makes him feel.

* * *

So, it’s been like two weeks since the play and Dean still can’t get it out of his head.

Marie’s interpretation was messed up. Robots? And friggin' temporary gender-swaps? Weird. Plus all that “subtext” and all the stuff about him and Cas, and him and Sammy singing about their "man-tears" like, _c'mon_.

It's just weird, okay? To think about him and Cas doing... stuff, together. Being—he can’t even think about it without grimacing—in _love._ Cas is his best friend, there's no disputing that, and they've been through a lot through the years, and not just the stuff that made it into the play. Those girls didn't know about any of the shit with the Leviathan and what happened in Purgatory but even before that there was… something.

But Cas is a literal _angel_ , a soldier of heaven, and no way in hell he would ever want Dean. Even if Dean did want to be like it was in that show, what the _subtext_ suggested, Cas would never go for it right? Why would an angel want anything to do with him? Cas never sticks around, just shows up every once in a while so he clearly doesn’t want to be around Dean all the time. And he’d freaked Cas out just by mentioning the “Destiel” thing on the phone, so the whole him and Cas thing can just stay “subtext” or whatever. It doesn't have to become like. Text.

It's just that, ever since Flint, Dean can't stop rolling that stupid play through his head over and over, looking at their relationship the way Marie had, helped along by Sam who takes every available opportunity to bring it up in everyday conversation. Try as he might, Dean can’t stop thinking about how close the play-Cas stood to the play-Dean, the way that Cas had looked at that Dean and the way that Dean had looked right back, the things that Cas did for that Dean. And suddenly he's looking back at all the interactions between himself and a certain actual angel, how close Cas stands when he forgets he's not supposed to, the way he looks up at Dean without blinking with that sincere, sure expression on his face. How he himself looks right back at Cas, how his eyes always take inventory of the pout of Cas' soft lips, the breadth of his shoulders, his fingers under the hem of his coat sleeve.

And then he thinks of Siobhan and Kristen, standing there off-stage holding hands, still dressed like him and Cas but not in character, and he just kind of— _aches_.

He tries not to think about it, tries to put this whole fucking debacle behind him. He's just got an impressionable mind right? He can't even watch the cooking channel without getting a hankering for what's on the TV, even if that happens to be snails or something equally nasty. Yeah, that must be it. He's only imagining this thing with Cas, imagining the _want_ that fills his chest when he thinks about him because these girls stuck it in his head, and it's nothing. It's really nothing.

Except that, three days after Dean’s resolved not to make a big deal out of it and never mention it again, Cas shows up at the bunker and everything goes to hell.

He's in the kitchen making himself and Sammy a burger and Cas just _appears_ at his elbow like he always does—taking away Cas’ wings didn’t seem to have any negative effect on his ninja-skills whatsoever—and says "Hello Dean".

"Jesus Christ!" Dean spins, knocking his plate onto the floor where it shatters in a gazillion pieces, tomato and lettuce and the perfect patty he'd just fried up splatting across the floor. He glares accusingly at Cas who just kind of furrows his brow like he's trying to figure out why Dean's so jumpy.

"I thought you got over the materializing on top of me thing when you lost your wings," he grumbles. Which, low blow bringing up the wings, but he's feeling a little vulnerable right now. Sue him.

Cas squints harder at him. "I'm not on top of you. And I didn't materialize."

"No I know but—" Dean waves his hand aimlessly between them, indicating the bare few inches between himself and Cas which, to be honest, suddenly feel like they're a few inches too many.

Cas' face smooths with his understanding and he takes a step back to give Dean some space. Dean suddenly aches with the distance, wants to grab him by the lapels of his trenchcoat and pull him back and whoa, that's new.

"My apologies," Cas says, and he finally breaks the eye-lock between them and drops his gaze to the floor where what used to be Dean's lunch is sprawled across the floor. "For your lunch, as well."

"It's okay, man," Dean says, turning away and trying to ignore the itching in his fingers and the thrum of his pulse that makes him want to sway back into Cas' space. "I'll just fry up another one, we got some more ground beef in the fridge. You hungry? What about Hannah, she here?"

Cas shakes his head. "She went her own way for a few days, to check in with Heaven. And you know I don't need to eat."

Dean pokes his head around the door of the refrigerator. "Just 'cause you don't need to eat doesn't mean you _can't_."

Cas shrugs. "It doesn't taste right anymore. Not since I've tasted it as a human,” he says and there's a note of longing in his voice that Dean hadn't heard before.

Dean pulls out the rest of the package of ground beef he'd opened earlier, places it on the stainless-steel counter next to the carton of eggs he'd pulled out first. He wants to ask why Cas had sounded like that, if he misses being human or something, and he wants to ask why the hell he’s here with Dean in the first place and not up in Heaven with Hannah doing angel-y things, but the words stick on his tongue, so he dumps the beef into the bowl and starts cracking eggs into the mixture.

Cas is silent and brooding at his side, and Dean feels the prickling sensation starting in his hair, trickling down the back of his neck and catching in his shoulder blades, a shiver, not yet fully formed, that tells him Cas is staring at him. He sprinkles the breadcrumbs over it and sets the tub aside, digging his hands into the bowl to mix the ingredients together.

Finally he just can't take it anymore and he darts a glance over his shoulder at Cas who's watching him impassively, unreadable, his eyes wide and way too blue and still somehow both way too close and not close enough. He looks back down at the bowl because he suddenly can't hold that gaze and not touch him.

"So uh," he says awkwardly, "why didn't you go upstairs with your Heaven Buddy?"

Cas looks down at his shoes, swallows, then back up, his face unchanged. "I wanted to see you. And Sam. I wanted to make sure you were recovering after we cured your demonhood."

Dean's mouth twists because he's been doing his damndest to forget that part. "I'm good, Cas," he says finally, forming the mixture into a rough patty shape and setting it on a plate beside his bowl, ready to fry. "Are you just here because you wanted to make sure I didn't go dark side again? Because I'm _fine_." It comes out a little harsher than he intended because it hurts that he's been thinking all this stuff and Cas just wants to make sure he didn't turn around and rip Sam's face off since the last time they talked.

Cas’ eyes narrow and his head tilts to one side as he studies Dean. “ _Are_ you fine?”

“Dude, yes.” Dean rolls his eyes, ignoring the twist in his stomach at the question. He braces himself for some kind of heavenly lecture, but Cas just nods and says, “Would you like some help?”

“Uh.” Dean blinks, staring across at Cas and Cas stares back at him, his blue eyes wide as he waits for Dean to make his way through his latest internal crisis. “Yeah, you can cut another tomato, if you want.” He hands Cas a knife with his free hand and Castiel makes his own way to the fridge, returning with the fruit in his hand. He sets himself up on the stainless steel counter next to Dean and slices the tomato with smooth, sure strokes of the knife, the pieces perfectly even in size.

“Huh,” he says, half to himself, though Cas pauses in his task to flick a questioning glance up at him. “Guess there’s nothing like a couple hundred thousand years of knife-fighting to prepare a guy for the role of sous chef.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but the way he presses his plush lips together gives away his amusement. Dean grins in spite of himself, leaning into his side and bumping him with his elbow because somehow they’ve ended up standing with only an inch between their shoulders, and that—of _course_ _—_ is when Dean’s nosy-ass brother decides to clear his throat from the doorway.

“Oh look, it’s Dean and Castiel,” Sam says and Dean darts a look over his shoulder suspiciously. Sam smirks at him, raising his eyebrows as he makes his way into the room. “You’re making dinner together?” Dean glares daggers at his brother, sure he knows where this is going because his brother hadn’t shut up about the whole _him and Cas_ thing since the play. “You know, the internet really loves it when you guys get all domestic—”

“Sam!” Dean snaps, the metal bowl he’s mixing hamburger in banging shockingly loud against the counter. “Shut your pie hole.” He chances a glance at Cas and the angel’s gaze flicks curiously from him to Sam.

“Sorry Cas,” Sam says, smiling sheepishly. “It’s just—we had this hunt at this all-girls school and they were doing this play based on the _Supernatural_ books—”

Cas’ vision clears and his eyes flick back to Dean’s and Dean feels an embarrassed flush creep up the back of his neck. “Ah. You were referring to ‘Destiel’.” He makes the air-quotes on either side of his head with long fingers wet with juice from the tomato he’s been cutting and Dean can’t decide if he wants to puke with embarrassment or pull Cas into a tight affectionate hug or suck his fingers into his mouth and lick them clean, which is a really weird fucking thing to think about your best guy friend.

“Oh, so Dean did tell you?”

Cas opens his mouth to reply but Dean jumps in with a bark of laughter that sounds too loud and too harsh in his own ears. “Yeah, but it’s nuts, right Cas? You and me together. Crazy, right? I mean, you don’t even stick around long enough to say goodbye most times.” He laughs again and shoves aside the ground beef, making his way over to the sink to wash his hands. “Never gonna happen in a million years.”

He flicks the excess water off his fingers into the sink and snags a checkered tea-towel from the handle of the nearby oven and when he turns around both Cas and Sam are staring at him. Sam is glaring like Dean just kicked a puppy and Cas is—well Cas looks like the puppy that he kicked. He turns away like he can’t even look at Dean, and Dean swallows against the sudden inexplicable shame rising up in his throat. He wishes they could go back in time five minutes to before Sam opened his big mouth, but the damage is done; Cas is all freaked out about it again, so freaked out by the prospect of the two of them together that he can’t even make eye contact and why wouldn’t he be? No angel of the lord is gonna want to shack up with the mess that’s Dean Winchester, and suddenly, Dean’s not even a little bit hungry anymore.

“Burgers are ready to go on the grill, Sam,” Dean says gruffly, brushing past him on the way out. “Make ‘em yourself if you wanna eat.”

He doesn’t make it very far down the hall before Sam is jogging after him, catching him by the shoulder and spinning him around. And he’s got something to say, if the way he’s glaring thunderously down at his older brother is any indication. Dean glares back up at Sam, refusing to back down even as he feels his face heat and knows he’s probably flushing like a speckled tomato.

“What?” Dean barks defensively, crossing his arms over his chest, and a muscle jumps in Sam’s jaw with the intensity of his glare.

“Didn’t you watch the friggin’ play? He _waited_ for you, man.”

“I had a few other things on my mind aside from watching a bunch of kids act out our lives, Sam! Like trying to keep a damn Greek goddess from ganking one of ‘em! Anyway how would you know? You got kidnapped by a damn scarecrow before Cas even showed up on the stage!”

“I didn’t have to see the play, Dean. I lived it,” Sam says. “Did you know that when you were a demon Cas told me he missed you? And did you ever stop and think about how he drove non-stop across the country just to get here when I was trying to cure you? Jesus, Dean, you were there when he gave up a whole fucking army to save you. The guy cares about you.” Dean shifts uncomfortably and Sam rakes an agitated hand through his hair before continuing. “Maybe you should read the books and then you’ll see what I mean. This is one time that having a bunch of books written about our lives is actually helpful.” He brushes past Dean, making sure to knock into his shoulder on the way past with no small amount of force, leaving Dean alone in the hallway, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.

Dean storms back to his bedroom, throwing himself face down on the bed. He spends the next few hours watching movies on his laptop, and when he sneaks cautiously back out to the kitchen to snag a bag of chips to fill his protesting stomach (he never did get dinner, after all), Cas is already gone.

* * *

Days pass and Sam and Dean take a trip out to Missouri to take care of a haunting. Sam mercifully doesn’t bring up the whole “Destiel” thing again but Dean doesn’t need the reminder; he’s already having a hard enough time getting it out of his head. So when they roll back to the bunker and Dean’s locked safely in his room, he tugs his duffel bag towards him and yanks out his laptop.

It’s surprisingly easy to find copies of the the rest of the _Supernatural_ books, the ones that Becky had uploaded to the internet, just like Charlie said. It’s no easier to read than the last time he gave them a glance—maybe even a little worse because Dean’s head had been an even shittier place than usual through those years, with the whole demon blood debacle and the archangel vessels thing—but he pushes on because he needs to know what Marie saw that made her put all that _subtext_ into her damn musical, what Sam had meant when they fought that night.

Dean reads for hours, and through Chuck’s words he sees Cas try to warn them, before he was sent back to Heaven and reprogrammed. He sees himself convince Cas to turn on Heaven and sees Cas do it—for him. He sees Cas go head to head with an archangel, firepower he can’t possibly stand up against, just to give Dean a chance to stop Sam from killing Lilith and freeing Lucifer, and sees him get blown up for his trouble. He sees himself and a recently reincarnated Cas work together on that case, trying to track down Raphael, and he catches himself grinning through half that book because he and Cas really had had a great time working together.

Then he gets to the book Chuck or Becky or someone had decided to call _The End_ , and by the time he reaches the last page he has to close his eyes, slumping back on the pillows and tossing the book aside because _son of a bitch_. Cas actually did wait for him, minus the singing of course; he’d stood there by the side of the road waiting so that Dean could get some sleep and then at just the right moment, swooped in and saved his ass from Zachariah.

And that wasn’t the only time either. When Dean gets over the shock that that had actually been real and not some figment of Marie’s over-active imagination, he manages to read through to the last book and he discovers that Cas has waited—has _been_ waiting—for him for years.

It’s not spelled out in so many words—Chuck never explicitly comes out and says it—but it’s pretty damn obvious that there’s something between them even in those early years, in the long looks and the lack of personal space and the way Cas had given up everything for him, had died for him over and over and over. And that was before Purgatory, before Dean started praying to Cas just because he needed him around, before Cas gave up a whole army of angels and the chance to flatten Metatron just for him.

Dean doesn’t get any sleep that night, or the one after that.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Dean thinks way more than he likes to admit. He thinks about the play, about Kristen and Siobhan, about Chuck’s books. He thinks about Cas, thinks about him and Cas, thinks about all the stuff he now knows Cas has done for him and all the stuff he thinks he would do for Cas. He finds himself wishing Cas would show up out of the blue, wishing he would just fucking call, even if it’s just about a case, but of course, he doesn’t.

In spare moments when they’re out on hunts and he’s waiting for Sam to get back from talking to some witness or other, or when they’re home at the bunker and Dean’s shut safely in his bedroom, he finds himself opening Cas’ contact information on his phone by rote. His thumb hovers indecisively over the call button until he realizes what he’s doing and hucks his phone across the room, scowling. It all feels disgustingly like _pining_ and so what if he _is_ in love with Cas? Dean Winchester doesn’t fucking pine.

(Sam may have something to say about that, but Sam can just keep his fat mouth shut.)

In the end, it’s Sam that winds up calling Cas, looking for his help on a case. Sam and Dean are on the road, investigating something that looks like angel business, and Cas shows up at their motel with Hannah in tow, parking that ridiculous Continental right up alongside the Impala. He books a room to share with Hannah for God knows what reason, since angels don’t need to sleep. Dean has to admit he’s a little jealous over it, and he can’t really look Cas in the eye with all of his newfound revelations swimming around inside his head.

It turns out that a bunch of leftover Abaddon loyalists got ahold of an angel called Adriel, and the Winchesters, Cas and Hannah manage to free her and take care of the demons. It’s a mop-job for the four of them, almost laughably easy, and Adriel’s a little beat up but nothing a little rest can’t fix. They head back to the motel, Cas and Hannah helping Adriel into their room while the Winchesters troop back into theirs.

When the knock comes at their door a couple hours later, Dean is stretched out on his bed with his headphones over his ears and CCR playing on his MP3 player. Sam gets up from the table where he’s set up with his laptop and answers the door, revealing a tired-looking Cas, still with Adriel’s vessel’s blood splattered over his trenchcoat.

“Hey Cas,” Sam asks, surprised, and steps back to admit the angel. He glances around outside and seeing that Cas is alone, shuts the door behind him. “How’s Adriel doing?”

Cas sighs, slumping into the couch under the window and rubbing a long-fingered hand over tired eyes. “She’s going to be fine,” he says wearily. “Hannah is looking after her. I let her have my bed to rest in until she’s recovered.”

Sam nods. “Good. That’s good. You can hang out here if you want, while she’s resting.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, smiling tiredly up at him, and then his eyes slip past Sam and find Dean. Dean freezes like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, feeling a flush creep slowly up his neck, and Cas’ brow furrows like he can’t figure out why Dean’s looking at him like that.

Sam turns to follow Cas’ gaze and a truly evil grin curls across his lips. “So, there’s a pretty sweet library on the university campus here. I’m just gonna—” he wiggles his fingers at the door aimlessly in probably the least-subtle maneuver ever— “go check that out.” He beams. “See you guys later.”

And then he’s gone, the door swinging ominously shut behind him, leaving Dean and Castiel alone for the first time since Dean’s whole “Destiel” epiphany.

“Wow, Sammy,” Dean mutters, tugging the headphones off his ears to rest around his neck. “Subtle.” Cas squints at him but Dean just shakes his head and pushes himself to a sitting position. “So what’s new, Cas?”

“Nothing, Dean,” Cas says. “I just wanted to—” he looks away, a muscle in his jaw tensing before he looks back and smiles just a little, his eyes sad— “to talk. How are you?”

Dean sighs, shuffling a hand through his hair where it’s gone a little wonky from his pillow. He shrugs. “I’m good, Cas, how are you?”

“I’m fine.” He cocks his head and Dean feels something warm flood his chest, something like affection. That expression didn’t used to do this to him, or did it?

“Your music is very loud,” Cas says and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Dude, do you even know me at all?” Dean retorts, and Castiel’s lips quirk just a tiny bit at the corners, and Dean has to fight an answering smile that pulls up in response to Cas’ as if it was a magnet. He scoots to the edge of the bed and slings his legs over the side until his feet rest on the floor.

Dean casts about for something to say but his brain is conspiring against him and keeps circling back to _So Cas, did you know I’m in love with you?_ and there is no way in hell he’s going to say that, not when the other side of his brain is still screaming at him that in spite of everything they’ve been through, in spite of everything Cas has done for him, Cas couldn’t possibly love him back. Because he might have waited but he never _stays_ , not even when Dean wants him to. The only reason he’s staying now is because Adriel needs time to recover. The silence stretches on between them, gapingly empty, and Dean shifts uncomfortably, opening up his mouth to say something, anything, but what comes out, to his dismay, is—

“Why do you leave?”

Cas looks up at him sharply, his gaze piercing. “What?”

Dean wants to take it back, wants to gather the words back up and shove them back where they came from but it’s too late for that so he says, “Why do you always leave, man? After we’re done with a hunt, after we finish saving each other’s bacon, how come you just—” he makes a waving motion in the air beside his head— “take off? Like last time, after I was cured, you just took off with Hannah, even after I—” his words choke off, but he makes himself continue. “After I said I was glad you were there?”

Cas stares at him, looks away for a second and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and Dean has to pry his gaze away, longing and need and embarrassment tangling up in his chest.

“I leave because you don’t need me anymore.”

Dean stares at Cas, confounded. “What?”

“You—and Sam—you don’t need me all the time. I come when I’m needed and the rest of the time I just stay out of the way.”

Dean gapes at Cas, astonished. “You think you’re some kind of tool to us, Cas?”

It’s ridiculous, it’s fucking _unbelievable,_ but Cas is shrugging like it’s just something he’s accepted long ago. He’s staring down at his hands, looking sad and way smaller than he actually is and Dean fucking hates it. He pulls the headphones off his head, switching off his MP3 player and setting it on the bedside table. He makes his way around the bed and sits down on the couch beside Cas, the springs creaking in protest as he slumps into the cushion. When he looks up, Cas is watching him, his gaze very wide and very blue.

“Cas,” Dean chokes out, fighting against the stinging in his eyes. “How many times do I have to say ‘I need you’ before you fucking believe it?”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat, a ragged sound almost like a voiceless sob. He tears his gaze away, staring down at the floor, his throat working. Then Cas is looking at him again, his hands curling into fists at his sides, and his jaw is set in determination.

“I don’t think it’s absurd,” he says and _what_?

“What?” Dean asks, blinking dumbly because he’s about twenty steps behind and more than a little uncomfortable, since he’s pretty much baring his damn heart, here. “What’s not absurd?”

“‘Destiel’,” Cas says and oh God, he makes the air-quotes again. “When last we spoke you were acting as though the idea of us being together was ridiculous. I don’t see any reason why it should be.”

Dean blinks, licking suddenly dry lips. “You. You don’t?” Castiel shakes his head and something breaks loose in Dean’s chest, something terrifyingly like hope.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he says and Castiel’s brow furrows and he blinks, like it wasn’t what he expected Dean to say. “I didn’t mean that the whole idea was crazy, like it could never happen. I know I’m an asshole but I didn’t mean it like that. Just—I thought I freaked you out, man. But I.” He pauses, sucks in a steadying breath, smoothing his sweaty palms down his denim-clad thighs. “I read the books, Cas, the ‘Winchester Gospels’ or whatever that Chuck wrote. That the play was based off of. And at first I thought it was crazy, you know? Those girls thinking that we could have something because why the hell would an angel of the lord want anything to do with me?” He swallows hard and forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes. “Why did you do it?”

Cas stares back at him and the space between them is so narrow, and Dean’s stomach muscles tense as he fights the urge to sway in towards him. Finally, Cas closes his eyes, and when he opens them again there’s resignation and desperate longing there that makes Dean’s breath stutter, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

“Don’t you know?” Cas says and that’s all the confirmation Dean needs. He can’t stop himself from leaning in, his hands coming up to grip the lapels of Cas’ coat, and Cas sucks in a needy breath.

“Yeah Cas,” Dean says, his voice coming out raw and rough. “Yeah, I think I do.” He presses their foreheads together, letting his eyes slide closed, and he just breathes in Cas. Cas’ hands come up hesitantly to curl around his wrists, the long fingers firm and warm on his flesh and he uncurls his fingers from the fabric of Cas’ coat, sliding his hands up to cup the back of Cas’ neck.

When they finally pull away, Dean is smiling, and Cas blinks his eyes open. “Uh,” Dean says, “me too. For the record.”

Cas smiles, and it’s the tiniest of expressions, just a slight ticking up of his lips at the corners as the lines deepen around his too-blue eyes. His fingers squeeze, once, where they’re still curled around Dean’s wrists and Dean lets his thumbs stroke over the angle of Cas’ jaw.

“Can I kiss you, Cas? We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to,” he hurries to qualify, “but if you do—”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas interrupts. “You can. I want you to.”

So Dean leans in and lets his lips brush against Cas’, sweet and dry and chaste. It’s simple, not even PG-rated, but it feels right, and he thinks Cas wasn’t the only one who’s been waiting all this time. He kisses him again just because he finally can, and he feels Cas smile against his lips.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr at [wincechesters](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com) :)


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